Flawed Mortality
by The Last Leaf
Summary: There is a different between what he wanted and what she could give him. They said that what is taken forcefully will not be sweet. Au contraire, he found them to be the tastiest of the bunch, and that is the tragedy of Purebloods. Harukax Juuri


Disclaimer: VK is not mine.

A/N: This one-shot contains a little spoiler from Ch. 35 and 36, while it is not an important detail, but it is a spoiler/ information revealed exclusively in those chapters. Their spoiler-yness depends on your view, while it is not directly related to the current main characters or VK as a whole really, but before the fanfic, I am just going to explain a bit that was revealed so that you will understand this story better.

Spoiler:

Yes, Haruka (father) and Juuri (Mother) Kuran are Kaname's parent's official name which was revealed in chapter 35.

Yes, the Kuran and the purebloods comitted incest in order to keep their blood pure, which was revealed in chapter 36.

Thus, Haruka and Juuri are actually brothers and sisters which prompt the creation of this fanfic.

With that in mind, I hope you would understand and enjoy this story better.

"May I sleep with you today?"

It was a simple question. Her eyes, red and puffy, blinked innocently at him. A limp, white and frilly nightdress hung on her lanky figure, still very much a body of a child, but he could almost taste the woman budding silently inside her, so almost near its blossoming time. Her white bare toes placed in a docile manner, tamely like gentle lambs grazing the soft white carpet.

He sighed, took off his glasses, golden-framed, and placed the Tolstoy novel he was leafing through (as a bit of light reading before sleep) beside the ornamented lamp on the nightstand. Biting a leg of his eye glasses habitually, he lowered his eyes, hiding his revealing irises behind thick veils of dark lashes.

"Haruka?" she whispered his name, pleading between those letters. Her silken curls shimmered oddly in the lonely lamp light, swayed to the late night, early dawn, breeze, tickling her lower waist.

He sat in his bed, propped up by a pillow, watching her silently, but then, he sighed again, and lifted his covers.

"Come, Juuri."

Her lovely face brightened and she jumped him, flew into his warm bed.

She snuggled against him, black locks spilled out like a silk screened fan, ringlets and threads, in a manner that strangely resembled a satisfied cat. Her soft arms snaked around him, squeezing him tightly against her, holding on to him as closely as possible. It was love and fear and sadness, but it was platonic and sisterly and there was nothing else in that simple embrace.

He reached up, and easily found the trickle of iron, hanging from the yellow lamp and pulled it. The room plunged into shadowy darkness, where demons were hidden in crude, sharp nooks, except the thin silvery sunlight glowing through the thick curtains, glimmering ethereally.

He shifted into a more comfortable position, dragging the dark velvety blanket across so that it enveloped the girl completely, protecting her entirely.

He caressed her head smoothly and invited in a low, gentle voice, "What's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare." Came her short and muffled reply.

"About what?" He found lost strands of hair and curled the locks absent-minded with his fingers. He stared into the darkness and his thoughts drifted, slightly mesmerized by the buzzing, seemingly peaceful, yet deceitful black, a black that appeared to blend into, became part of his shirt and his bed and her hair, tangling and subjecting and molding.

"A pair of eyes… different colors, blue and red… it was staring at me and staring at me, and wouldn't stop staring at me," she uttered a terrified response. He could even felt her shivering beneath through the clothes at the recall of those horrible imagines.

"A pair of eyes…" he repeated after her. His mind cleared, and an understanding filled his conscious and plans and words and everything he had learned as an apprentice of the Kuran family that made him more devious and tainted then his lovely little sister, his counterpart and his fiancée, pointed to an atrocious truth, hidden within the Kuran clan. His fingers gripped her shoulder, almost piercing her delicate skin, bruising them.

"Haruka… you're hurting me," she murmured. Her fingers wrinkled the back his black shirt quite effectively. "Stop it…"

He let go quickly. His hands relaxed and limp against her shoulders, but its veins still remained tensed.

"I beg your pardon."

"I'm sorry to bother you tonight," she apologized herself. He could make out her small pale face in the dark and her scarlet eyes gleaming— each bore a white star of its own.

"I don't mind. Beside, you are my only sister. It is my duty to take care of you," a perfect answer in a perfect neutral tone articulated.

"And wife," she added in a tiny voice, "Don't forget about wife."

He chuckled lightly, "I didn't."

"Then why didn't you say it?" she asked sadly, even the ends of her ringlets seemed to droop.

"Because fair Fortune has her fickle ways," he explained indifferently, recalling of things, words, and sentences he read that taught him of the erratic mind.

"You may not want me in the future?" she was too young and inexperienced to understand his subtle ways of answering.

"I'm afraid it's the other way around," he replied tenderly.

"Of course I will marry you. Why wouldn't I?" she questioned, perplexed.

"I don't claim the knowledge," he only said that.

"But, but," she stammered anxiously, "If I am not with you, then who will?"

He didn't answer her.

"Why does Haruka say these wretched things? If I am with you, then Haruka wouldn't be lonely anymore, right? Why wouldn't we get married? I want to get married with you. I want to be your wife," she assured him.

"You can only be happy with me because I am the only who could understand you and we are family and families are suppose to stay together," her words became silken strings and caught him in her spidery webs.

"How do you know?" he asked quietly.

"Because you are my brother," she replied truthfully, "I don't want you to be all alone. With me, you will not be so alone anymore. You know that I am the only who can accept you as you are." She told him in a matter of fact tone.

"Only I will stay with you until the end."

He only looked at her, but she was still a child. He doubted she understood the true meaning of her words. She didn't understand the secrets of desires and lust and caution. In her clear eyes, there was simple, pure love, stained by nothing, an emotion reserved for him, but it was foolish and too broad and not what he wanted to see. Because it was for a family, for a brother, but not for a fiancé, not for her husband, her passion did not burn for him.

They told her that she was his, and she accepted that, but he wasn't satisfied with it. He longed for more, more than obedience, more than spiritual love. He needed something more tangible, more touchable, but she was too intangible, untouchable, and too innocent that he feared to dirty her.

"Do you really wish to be my wife?" he asked her lightly.

She stared at him. Her beauty unmatched by any other vampiresses he ever had the pleasure to meet. It was not flamboyant or raw, but more elegant, calm, like the ocean in early March, the white sandy shore where the sea met the land with its frothing white sleeves, where everything come together, but fall apart at the same time.

The she nodded without a second thought, not even a moment of hesitation.

He rolled on his back, staring straight up at the gloomy ceiling, with her, still holding on to him. Thoughts raced through him, about cautious ways, secretive plans, evil things, power and control, Senate, and family, her smile, his future, and their weakness and his inability.

He felt despicable and filthy and he knew he shouldn't, but his lips parted and he wanted a solid thing to grasp onto.

"Kiss me," the moment the air was filled with these words, he wished he had not spoken. He closed his eyes dejectedly and exhaled, disgusted with himself.

He felt her moving, struggling from their tousled form. He half expected her to run out of his room like a startled fawn and never return.

His eyes snapped open when he felt her fingers on him, climbing onto him.

She caressed his face, directly over him, holding it as if it was something precious to her. Her long dark tresses fell down like silk curtains, separating them from the rest of the room, an ephemeral, fragile thing, like glass, like mirrors, transparent glittering things.

When he looked straight up, he saw that her lids were lowered and so close that he could count those numerous smoky eyelashes, but he could not read her eyes.

She sunk down a little bit, controlling her weight carefully not to be too rough.

But she was shaking, quivering like a feeble dried leaf in the wind. Her red luscious lips were trembling and it was inching closer to his.

Her cold breath blew against his cheeks, almost shivering with anticipation.

She was just a child, and he was forcing her to do this appalling act, but she was close, too close and he didn't find the strength to push her away.

It was cold and soft and tasted like guilt and submission, but turned warm, and he found it too addicting, too sweet and lovely.

He knew what he was doing. He was not the type to lose his head and thoughts and logic and intellects over matters. He knew he was grabbing her, warping his arms around her, hands on her back, pressing her down on him.

She resisted a bit, but was too weak against him. Eventually she slacked against him, giving up her little futile rebellion and letting him wash all over her.

He wanted to eat her, to crawl under her skin and never leave, but he was also a logical and calm man, and he would not let this dreadful monster called lust manipulate him.

He loosened his clasp on her as he licked her pale, delicious neck, but did not bite; he would not taste the sweet, juicy fruits of this flower so soon. His tongue could feel its hot, rushing scrumptious blood through those veins, counting its pulses and beats, and his desire to bite into the delicate artwork. Red roses blossomed along his journey around her neck, jaw line, eye lobes, tender unexplored skins that no one but him had touched before.

She gasped and panicked. She stumbled over words, begging him to stop for such unabridged passion scared her. It was something new, strange and it frightened her, but it was also forbidden and exciting and it was divine.

Yet he stopped, but if he continued, he knew he couldn't and wouldn't stop until he destroyed all of her, to shred her thin pallid body into little pieces and mutilate her until he could feel her bleed all over his skin, covering him in her glorious warmth.

He released her, and allowed her to roll to the side, panting.

A new wave of revulsion and self-loathing hit him, almost made him tumbling over and vomiting all over his shiny pretty floor. He felt nauseated, sickened with himself, and he didn't want to glance over at her.

"I'm sorry," he finally uttered and finally looked at her.

She stared at him. Her red lips scavenged and bruised, her locks fell and bounced everywhere, the collar of her dress torn and red marks covered her collarbone, but it was her eyes, those beautiful scarlet irises that seemed to contain a blossoming bloody rose in each one, which caught him and crushed him.

They glistened with suppressed tears, like polished rubies, and there was fear and sadness and horror, those things that he never wanted to see her with, especially aimed at him.

He reached out to touch her, to brush a thread away from her face, but she flinched.

His hand fell away and he repeated, "I'm sorry."

He stood up, leaving merely creases on the thin bedspread.

She shrunk back.

He smiled, "Don't worry. I am just going to sleep in the study tonight."

He went to the door and twisted it open.

He looked back and wished, "Sleep well."

But by mid-day, she came to him in the study, sobbing and sniffling, whimpering his name over and over again like a mantra, "Haruka…Haruka…Haruka…"

Her arms around his waist, crying on his chest, and laying broken breathless kisses on his face, he realized she came to him because she had no one else to go to.

See, she had no one else beside him.

He may never see love or passion or fire in her eyes when she gaze at him, but he could see himself, reflecting in her pupils, because he was her everything and without him, she had nothing.

**The End**

This started out as a companion piece for _Philosophically Speaking_, but halfway through this, evil plot bunnies attacked and completely turned this innocent creature into what you've just read. So in the end, I coudn't decide whether if this is still in the same universe as _Philosophically Speaking_ since I have twisted Haruka's personality to beyond recognition.

But I wanted to show a man that is really confused between the platonic feelings for a sister and sexual lust for a woman, yet at the same time disgusted by those feelings and frustrated by his sister lack of feelings for him.

Oh, I have a little _Lolita _referrence in this. It would be cool if you could find it.

So yeah... Thanks for reading and it would be nice if you review :).


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